


Apples and Oranges

by middlemarch



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV), Dunkirk (2017), Foyle's War, Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers, The Hour
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Friendship, Gen, encounters, summaries of stories never written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Worlds that never existed, but could.





	1. Statute of Limitations

They met in Park Slope, both fleeing the almost militant lines of expensive strollers, Baby Joggers and Bugaboos, aptly named to drive off unpartnered women who didn’t consider their oocytes every **single** moment. Amy had been planning to go to a seminar on coding and empowerment and Rebecca had intended to drown her corporate sorrows in a boozy solo brunch; the mimosas at Stone Park Café, alone with ther iPhone and the Saturday Times crossword, a brief in her hobo bag because let’s be real, people. Instead, they devoured a veritable tower of the egg-drenched French toast at Kiwiana as well as the far-too-easy-on-the-eyes Kiwi waiter Joshua and the opposition inherent in their careers had been rendered meaningless, shredded like a pair of nylons. Amy didn’t tell Jake about it, because why should she and she couldn’t bear to hear another rant about lawyers and Rebecca had no one to tell; it had been years since she’d had a real friend, since she’d parted from Josh Chan and any chance of happiness. Everything else that followed, they kept the other apprised of—via Facebook message and text, Amy partial to old-fashioned snail mail like the pen pal letters she’d sent in middle school, Becks more likely to call at the most inopportune moment of a stake-out. Amy wasn’t jealous and Becks wasn’t greedy, so even with the cross-country move and new friends, new love, new work and all the old crap making it hard, they kept in touch.


	2. Tea and Sympathy

He’d made his way to the Hastings police station and he’d never be able to say how. Brookie had not taken any notice until he’d pushed his way to the desk and announced, “I’m a murderer” and then paused for a moment before he’d replied, “Better call for the Chief, then.” Foyle had recognized the shell-shock in the man’s face and the days of drinking little, eating less and had pushed his own untouched cup of tea across his desk at the man, glad for once that Sam had not listened well enough and had been overly liberal with the milk and sugar. He’d had to nod at the desperate man to get him to pick up the cup and finish the drink; he knew enough not to ask any questions until there was only the weedy pattern of the tea-leaves left. He was fairly certain he’d been given the wrong answer when the man spoke, but he wasn’t sure why other than to hear the oddness of it in the man’s tone, in his pale grey eyes.

“I’m called George. George Dawson.”


	3. Crowns and Coronets

Bel met Polly Parker during the Blitz, when they were packed together like the sardines Bel would have given her eye-teeth for, in the Aldwych tube station. There had been a mother with three small children whining on Bel’s other side and a portly gentleman, if he could be called that, squashing Polly. Necessity had driven them to join forces but they found their friendship outlasted that night’s bombing. When Polly invited Bel for a weekend at a relative’s home in the country, it had not even taken the mention of fresh eggs and butter before Bel agreed; finding herself at a dinner table with a Lord and a Lady and Chief Inspector might have been enough to put her off, except that she was so bloody hungry. The parlour games Lord Peter insisted on after the gentlemen finished their port were another matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr crossover ask-meme. Possibly more to come if I'm feeling like it.


End file.
